


Tales of Evelyn Trevelyan: Lyrium and Garlic

by insideofadog



Series: Dragon Age Nonsense [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Lyrium
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:35:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5906647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insideofadog/pseuds/insideofadog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little story about why Inquisitor Trevelyan has never used lyrium potions and has recently stopped eating large amounts of garlic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tales of Evelyn Trevelyan: Lyrium and Garlic

_From Commander Cullen’s personal journal:_

I awoke--gasping, dragging air into my lungs in a desperate effort to clean out any trace of that _smell_ , that taste, from my body. My breath hissed out through clenched teeth, and my stomach staged a revolt, desperate to heave out the remnants of poison.

I have awakened this way more times than I can guess, but that time, I was not alone in the bed. 

Evelyn stirred behind me, making tiny, sleepy hums and slipping her small hand around my side and across my stomach. Her fingers stilled for a minute--she must have realized how fast I was breathing–and then she patted my skin.

“It was a dream,” she murmured. “I’m here.”

I rolled over and pulled her up close to me, burying my face in her hair and taking a deep breath. She smelled the same way she always does: lavender and woman, warm skin and a touch of woodsmoke.

She stroked my back until my breathing evened out and my heart slowed, but I kept my face in her hair, replacing the horrible memory of that smell with something new and infinitely more comforting. She never smells like lyrium.

She didn’t ask me about the dream. She doesn’t ever press, tells me to take my time and talk to her when I’m ready, or just to write it in my journal. Even now, when we have become so close, there are some nightmares I think I will never be ready to share with her.

“Evelyn,” I began, “Dorian said…you never use lyrium potions. Is that true? Did you stop because of me?”

“Mmm…” she replied. “There are several reasons, but primarily, relying on an outside source to amplify your power is dangerous. You come to depend upon that source, and if it is gone, then you are much weaker than if you’d never used it at all.”

“I’ve always tried to use the power the Maker gave me, and not ask for any more,” she sighed. 

I felt her left hand, wedged between us, form into a fist.

“Of course, I have stumbled upon more power by accident. It just goes to show that my mother was right when I was very young.” She pulled back and planted a kiss on my forehead. “You really shouldn’t go around picking strange things up off of the ground. At least I didn’t put the Orb in my mouth, I suppose. Why do you ask about the lyrium, dearest?”

I hesitated.

“What’s the other reason you don’t use it?” 

“Oh, well,” she huffed a soft laugh, “it is a bit silly but…I am not fond of the smell. It seeps out of every pore of the user’s body. It is an effect similar to one I observed in myself when I was exploring the medicinal effects of garlic.“

I squinted down at her.

“Are you saying that Templars…smell bad?”

“No, not to most people,” she replied. “Unlike garlic, it’s barely detectable, especially if you also take lyrium yourself. But certain scents can evoke strong memories. For me, the smell is linked to…certain memories, certain individuals, I would rather not recall. Even if I wanted to imbibe a solution of lyrium, it would prove difficult. It makes me gag.”

“I…can understand that,” I replied. I sniffed her hair again for good measure. “I didn’t know if you avoided lyrium because of me.”

“No, no,” she assured me, “it predates you significantly, but I will admit that I am glad that you do not smell of it. Now, are you ready to rest again?”

I lay on my back and she pillowed her head on my shoulder. I smiled at a sudden thought, a positive memory evoked by a scent.

“I just remembered--Josephine’s clothing smells the same as yours sometimes, and she told me it was lavender. She was very confused when I asked.” The memory, that nauseating ache of the lyrium, had faded, and I finally allowed myself to relax.

“I like the way you smell,” I smiled into her hair. 

“That is nice to hear.” I felt her lips curve on my chest. “Due to its aromatic effects, I will admit that I stopped experimenting with the consumption of large quantities of garlic after I met you.” 


End file.
